Foreign Worlds
by That Crazy Girl
Summary: In a universe parallel to our own, Tom Riddle goes to school at the same time the Trio does. But what happens if the line between that universe and our own, as well as other universes, is crossed? TRHG
1. Chapter 1

Title: Foreign Worlds

Summary of the summary (made for Fanfiction Dot Net): In a universe parallel to our own, Tom Riddle goes to school at the same time the Trio does. But what happens if the line between that universe and our own, as well as other universes, is crossed? TRHG

Full summary: There are many universes parallel to our own. Different things happen in these universes. In one of them, Voldemort won the war. In another one, he lost. There is one universe where Tom Riddle goes to school at the same time the Trio does. Things are, of course, drastically different. There is a line that ensures the different universes will never cross each other. That line is about to be crossed. My humble contribution to the TRHG pairing. (First time writing it! Yeah!)

Disclaimer: I will never own Harry Potter and it's time I accept it. (It's more of the reverse, really.)

A/N: I apologize for any writing mistakes I might have made, but I simply could not resist the temptation of posting this before editing (which could be a grave mistake, I know, but I couldn't resist!). I want to make sure this is worth continuing to write, seeing as how it would be my first chapter-length fanfic. Any constructive criticism you might have for me is extremely welcome. Thanks in advance for even bothering to read this!

* * *

A dark shadow had swept over Hogwarts. Its darkness could have claimed everything it touched; but it instead focused on possessing the heart of a single brown-haired witch; claiming her happiness; leaving nothing but hatred and envy in its stead. 

Hermione Granger had just seen Tom Riddle handing in his perfect baby blue potion, just as she was about to get up to turn in _her_ equally perfect potion as well. How did the guy _do_ it? How could he beat her to _everything_?

The witch growled as she got up and headed towards Professor Calden's desk; Tom Riddle "accidentally" brushing against her with a smirk as she passed him. The Professor, however, did not notice, and after congratulating Hermione for her work, sent her back to her desk.

Hermione was determined not to look at him as she joined the rest of the class. They sat beside each other; each claiming a seat in the first row, right in the middle of the classroom: the best seats of the classroom for students like them.

Tom was the first to break into the silence. He whispered, "Came close to finishing as soon as I did this time, did you?"

The evident laughter on his voice had not gone unnoticed. Hermione snapped at him. "I hadn't meant to finish quickly, Riddle" – she lied – "I took my time to ensure that my potion was not rushed. You can't do potions quickly, you know."

"Of course," Tom said, still amused. "But you are ignoring the fact that _I_ had the potion finished quickly, and it was perfect nonetheless."

"You self obsessed prick," Hermione muttered under her breath, loudly enough to be overheard by her neighbor.

"Believe what you want," Tom muttered back. "It is of no consequence to _me_; I'm still a better wizard than you are a witch, Miss Granger."

"The _nerve_ – "

"It is nothing short from the truth," he cut her. "One would think you had grown accustomed to second place. I for one believe you _should_."

It took all in Hermione's power not to stand up and shout to him. Instead, she remained quiet for the rest of the class, reading a book on Arithmancy and not even bothering to look up even when Ron, one of her best friends, pleaded with her from his place right behind hers and begged her to help him with his potion.

When the school bell rung, Hermione was the first one to get up, the first one to leave – the first one at _something_, finally. It had been so long since she had been first that she almost forgot what it felt like; ever since she came to Hogwarts, she had to fight against Tom for her position as one of the best students in the school, something she wasn't really happy about.

Ron Weasley and Harry Potter followed her closely behind, clearly aware that Hermione had been angered _again_.

"Hermione, wait up!" Ron called desperately, Harry following closely behind. Ron already was a tall enough for his age; next to Harry, however, he couldn't help but seem even taller.

"You shouldn't take it so personally," Harry said for the second time that day. Ron nudged him with his shoulder, but it was too late: Harry had already asked for the impossible. Hermione didn't even bother to answer him. Neither of her friends could ever truly understand what it felt like – to be constantly reminded of not being the best in a world where she was used to being nothing short of excellent.

"I'll be at the library," she informed them. Sometimes, she had to remind herself that her friends weren't the cause of her troubles; that they only wanted to help. And then she would feel terrible for not listening when they tried to make her feel better, and she would hate herself for letting Riddle anger her so. It was during those times that she hoped she was smarter; could finally beat Tom at something; if not for her own pride, then for her friends.

When those times came, she would always find herself at the library.

Ron and Harry knew better than to keep following their friend after she had clearly let them know she wanted to be alone. They parted their ways with her, and Hermione was free to enter the one single place in Hogwarts place that could provide her with the most knowledge.

Hermione loved that place. She loved the smell of old and new books. She liked the large variety of subjects she could explore without having to walk half the castle to take lessons on them. She liked the comfortable chairs and the silence that the librarian enforced. As a matter of fact, the only thing that Hermione _didn't_ like about the library was that Tom Riddle was usually found there as well.

"Good morning, Mrs. Eyre," Hermione greeted her favorite librarian. Mrs. Eyre, who had been telling off two students for trying to do their Transmutation practice on a couple of library books, gave Hermione a quick welcoming smile before going back to her reprimand.

A Defense Against the Dark Arts book was picked; it was ensured that Tom Riddle was nowhere nearby; and then Hermione sat down on one of the chairs of her favorite table in one of the two back corners of the library, where it could be said peace was certain.

It was only moments later than she felt an unwelcome being sitting down on the chair opposite to hers.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," she heard Tom Riddle's voice say. "I must say, that's a good choice: Defense must be your worst subject yet."

Hermione let down her book to give Riddle a fiery stare. "Excuse me," she said with feigned civility. "But I don't believe anyone _asked_ you."

"I was merely mentioning it," Tom shrugged, and with a flick of his wand and a nonverbal spell, Hermione's book was in his hands. "Studying for the N.E.W.T.s, I take it? And we've barely started the new school year."

Hermione felt her cheeks burn. "They might be the most important tests in our lives."

"But of course," Tom said, flipping the pages of the book lazily as though he had no particular interest in its contents. "That's why I borrowed this very book as soon as I finished taking my O.W.L.s."

"Give me that!" Hermione hissed, and she moved over the table to rescue her book. Tom evaded her with a quick move of his arm.

"Calm down, Miss Granger," said Tom with feigned worry, though there was clearly amusement in his eyes. "If Mrs. Eyre came, what would she ever think of you?"

Hermione's face grew even redder. "Mrs. Eyre rarely comes to this part of the library while I'm here; she knows full well she can trust me to both behave and find the books I need myself!"

"You don't want that trust to be broken then, do you?" Tom asked her.

"_Of course not_!" she retorted. "And neither do _you_, so give me back my book so I can _read_ it!"

"No," he said simply, and there was a mischievous smirk there even though he might have tried to have it repressed. "I rather like this book, you see. Might even have it borrowed today, now that I think about it…"

"Y – you…"

"But of course! You want it too, don't you? A pity not both of us can have it."

"I had it first!" she hissed.

"And I have it now."

And with that, Tom Riddle got up and left her to her anger, the book she had been so eager to read tucked safely under his arm.

**(TRHG)**

Harry and Ron would have never expected Hermione to greet them with a curse word, but that was exactly what she did when she came back to the Gryffindor common room; Tom Riddle's name attached to the phrase.

"He bloody _took_ my book!" she exclaimed, incredulous, as she sat down on a chair next to them. "He bloody took my book and _left_ with it!"

"C-calm down, Hermione!" said Ron, fearful as he always was whenever his friend was really mad. "Maybe he didn't do it on purpose…?"

Hermione almost chucked her wand at him.

"Of course he did it on purpose, Ron!" said Harry. He had evidently sensed the danger and decided that the best idea was probably to be on Hermione's side.

"He's just such a – a jerk!" Hermione went on.

"Of course he is," Harry agreed.

Ron followed Harry's lead and compared the subject in discussion to a hideous, evil troll.

After Ron had Hermione calmed down a little, Harry decided to risk it and give Hermione a little advice. "We all know Riddle's a prat, Hermione, but maybe if you don't let him get to you, he'll leave you alone." Meanwhile, Ron entertained himself by comparing Tom Riddle to every annoying magical pest in existence. "That's what he wants, isn't it? He just wants to get under your skin."

"I _know_, Harry, but he's just so annoying! And so…" – and she hated herself for admitting it – "so smart! It's like no matter what I do, I never get to beat him in class, even though I study really hard, and it annoys me to no end, because he _does_ rub it in…"

"It doesn't matter what Riddle does, you're definitely a smart witch, Hermione. He can't change _that_, no matter how hard he tries."

"I _know_, Harry," Hermione sighed. "You know what, I think I'm just going to go up, pick up _Hogwarts, A History_ and then come back with you guys and give it a nice reread. I can't let Tom Riddle put me down like this."

"That's the spirit," Harry said.

**(HGTR)**

Defense Against the Dark Arts was the very first class the next day.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Tom Riddle greeted her with a smirk, looking up from the library book – _her_ library book – he had borrowed yesterday.

Hermione gave him a glare as she sat down in her usual seat next to him. He had gotten here before her, as always; but this wasn't her fault: out of all the Hogwarts classes, Defense Against the Dark Arts was the one both Harry and Ron hated the most. The Defense teacher, Professor Snape, also seemed to hate her friends just as much as they hated him. So it was not unusual for them to slow down their pace whenever they had to go to the D.A.D.A. classroom, nor was it odd that they always sat in the back row, leaving her completely alone with _Riddle_.

"Did you have a nice day yesterday?" Tom continued. The teacher had not yet arrived. "Because I did wonder what you would do without your precious book to entertain yourself."

"I'll have you know I reread _Hogwarts, A History_," Hermione hissed as she got out her books.

"Ah. But I believe that particular book doesn't contain any useful knowledge to prepare us for the N.E.W.T.s," Tom stated, leisurely opening up her library book to a random page and beginning to read. "A pity."

She had opened her mouth to answer him when Professor Snape entered the room, draining out all the happiness any Gryffindor student in the classroom might have left. The Slytherins, however, seemed to be immune to Snape's depressing effects.

"You will all put your books away today," Professor Snape said. "As they will not be needed. You will be working in pairs today. I give you a minute to pair off. Any students left without a teammate will be personally paired by me."

There was a loud noise as students moved up from their chairs and began to frantically search for a partner. Hermione didn't even bother to look at Harry and Ron – they were more than likely going to work together. As always, this meant that she would have to work with Neville. And true to tradition, Neville was found to be seating next to Hermione before the minute was over.

"Time is up!" shouted the professor, and everyone went quiet and moved back to their seats. "Any student that is left out must remain standing."

Hermione stole a quick look around the room to look for Riddle; he was sitting next to Blaise Zabini, another Slytherin. She couldn't help but feel irritated with this. Not only had he found a work mate – something she had toyed with the idea of having it not happen – but Blaise Zabini was a fairly good student as well. He was no Tom Riddle, but next to Neville (who was deeply scared of the Dark Arts), the boy was a genius. The only good thing about Zabini was that, if Riddle did well, he could not take all the credit. Meanwhile, with Neville, it would be obvious who did most of the work…

Hermione continued to observe the other pairings as Snape forced a whimpering Patil twin to work with a scary looking Slytherin boy. Harry had, of course, paired himself with Ron; Dean Thomas with Seamus Finnigan; Draco Malfoy's one friend with the same blonde boy's other friend; and Draco Malfoy himself had, surprisingly enough, paired himself with Lavender Brown. Pansy Parkinson could be seen sulking next to Theodore Nott.

Professor Snape gave a flick of the wand, and various objects were scattered throughout the classroom. Hermione was surprised to find herself staring at a hat. She looked back – other equally unusual objects were sitting in the other tables. Harry and Ron were being disgusted by what appeared to be a used sock. Riddle's object was an empty bottle.

"These are your working objects. We will be working on this project for the rest of the week," Snape informed them, writing the word "Curses" on the blackboard. I want one of you to use a curse on your group's object, and the other one to break the curse. Don't finish by the end of the week, and you both fail." A loud groan could be heard in the classroom as the students complained. Professor Snape did not raise his voice. "The curses must be said nonverbally. You are not allowed to tell your classmate what curse you performed. Neither are you allowed to help your partner do their job. You can start working now."

Hermione turned to Neville to discuss their project – because of the noise, she could tell she was not the only one. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Riddle handing out instructions already. But she wasn't like that, she told herself. She would let Neville have a say in their project too.

"Well, Neville," Hermione said with a sympathetic smile. Her partner was currently a little whiter than usual: he had clearly not mastered breaking curses yet. "Nonverbal spells were last year; do you want to do that part? I'm afraid that if I give you a curse that was too simple Professor Snape might have that against us. You know how he is…"

"Y-yeah, I think that is the best," Neville agreed. "I'm just so nervous, Hermione – I don't want us to fail because of me…"

"And we won't," she reassured him. "You're fantastic, Neville, we haven't failed anything yet, why would this be different?"

"We've never failed because _you_ made sure of it…"

"And I'll make sure of it again today," Hermione smiled. "We just have to believe in ourselves. So are you ready for this?"

"Yeah…" the boy said hesitantly. "We're gonna beat this thing."

"I'll leave you to deciding what curse to put, then. I don't think we're allowed to be sitting near each other – Snape might suspect I'm trying to help," Hermione said, and with a pat in the shoulder and a wish of good luck, left Neville alone to his thoughts. Many students were doing the same; after Crabbe had foolishly gotten up to stretch his legs without getting a reprimand from Snape, they all assumed other students could do the same. The only students who were currently sitting down where the ones that had to do the cursing. Hermione passed a confused looking Lavender and a glowering Pansy Parkinson to go talk to Harry. Ron was sitting a few feet away, his expression stating that he was clearly using his brain power, and that he didn't like it.

"Neville's doing the curse? You got guts, Hermione," Harry smiled.

"It was better than having him lift off the curse. That part can be dangerous."

"Knowing you, you would do something harmless, just for him. But then again, knowing Neville – "

" – He would have gotten himself hurt anyway," Hermione concluded with a sigh.

Hermione did her best not to steal a glance of Tom Riddle's table. She did _not_, after all, want to know who was going to do the cursing. Neither did she want to give that impression. But she had to look at Neville's progress _eventually_, and it was inevitable that she should accidentally look towards Riddle's seat as well, since it was immediately next to hers. So when Hermione _did_ look at Neville, she was surprised to find Tom Riddle doing the easier part of the job: he was currently sitting down, his bottle in one hand and wand in the other, apparently thinking of what curse he wanted to cast on the object. Neville was doing something similar. Hermione only wished she could see his face – he must be worried so…

The voice of Lavender Brown interrupted her thoughts.

"That Parkinson girl keeps glowering at me," she stated nervously, and Hermione turned her attention back to her immediate surroundings to find the Gryffindor girl talking to Harry. "It's not like I stole her _boyfriend_, she was never Draco's girl. And he asked _me_, so it's not like it was _my _fault…"

"Sure, Lavender," Harry said quickly, but there was light disapproval in his voice. "Now would you mind explaining to us why you accepted? This is Malfoy we're talking about."

Lavender blushed. "Well, he's different now!" she defended herself. "Ugh – you'd never understand, Harry…"

And with that, she left, leaving Hermione to explain to Harry that he was a boy, and that girls simply saw things differently. Harry just shook his head.

The bell rung after some time of atypical socializing, and Hermione went back to collect her things. They had spent their time talking with friends and looking at the progress of other students. Hermione had purposefully neglected Riddle's table but could not help but notice him walking around the classroom after the first ten minutes; she was forced to conclude that he was done. Other students weren't as quick as him, however. Draco Malfoy had managed to decide on and cast an efficient curse just before the bell rang, but other students would have to continue their work tomorrow.

Hermione gave Neville some encouraging words before going back to the rear of the classroom to join Harry and Ron. She passed an incredibly jealous Pansy Parkinson and an annoyed Draco Malfoy as she went, but she didn't mind them. Ron had just finished fixing up his and Harry's smelly sock when she joined them.

" – I mean the thing _smells_ and he can't just expect us to _carry it around_ – "

"Hey, Hermione; Ron just tried to rip our precious sock in two," Harry informed her.

Hermione repressed a laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry, you two; having that thing assigned as your object must be awful!"

"It really is," Ron said, and Hermione believed him – she could smell the sock from where she stood. "The thing _smells_ and not exactly of strawberries. _I'm_ not putting it on my bag."

"Why don't you put it in a plastic bag?" Hermione offered. Harry and Ron looked at her, puzzled.

"What's a plastic bag?" Ron asked.

"Hold on," Harry said. "I _think_ that's something my mum used when she got the stomach flu last summer…"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Purebloods. "It's a muggle item," she said, and she conjured one out of thin air. "Trust me: if you use it, you can trap the smell of the sock inside of it."

"My dad was right: bless the muggles," Ron said, looking at Hermione gratefully. "Especially for making _you_, Hermione…"

"Alright, stop with the flattering, it's just a bag," Hermione said with a smirk.

"No, really, thank you…"

"Shall we go then? It has just occurred to me that we're in Defense," Harry whispered.

"Oh! You're right!" Ron muttered, and they scurried away before Snape could take any points from their house for being late for leaving.

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Read and Review, please! You have no idea how much it means to me! xD 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Foreign Worlds

SPOILER WARNING: I forgot to write this for the first chapter! This story _is_ AU, but that doesn't mean it doesn't contain spoilers! The authoress _has_ read all the Harry Potter books, and she intends to use that knowledge on her story whenever it is convenient. So yeah… Spoilers for Deathly Hallows can and will be placed somewhere around the plot!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter owns me. He would have owned my soul, too; but alas, gave it to the ice cream man and traded it for a sandwich. I don't own Harry, though; nor do I own any of his little friends… or enemies.

A/N: Thank you _so_ much for all the reviews! Here is the second chapter! I hope you all like it!

* * *

Hermione Granger had changed a lot while she was a student at Hogwarts. She couldn't help it: seven years of studying magic and living miles away from one's parents would inevitably change anyone. In the last seven years, she had, for example, traded her lifelong dream of living in a castle on the clouds for the more realistic wish of wanting to live near a forest. She had changed her dream professions. Before she knew she was a witch, Hermione simply wanted to be a dentist, just like her parents were. Now she wished for nothing more than to work as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, and eventually climb her way up until she became the first ever female Minister of Magic, and the first Minister to have a pro House Elf agenda to boot. Her less significant partialities had also changed. Favorite colors had been switched, certain fears had either vanished or materialized—she also changed her favorite day of the week as soon as she met Tom Riddle, a practice that became such a vital tradition in her school life that it became just as constant as her change of courses each year. 

Before she came to Hogwarts, Hermione's favorite day of the week had been Monday. She simply loved the idea of a new week of school; Mondays had always represented new knowledge in her mind. Yet the week after she began Hogwarts and shared classes with the dark haired devil (as she not so affectionately called him), her favorite day became Thursday, when she didn't have to see Tom at all. _This_ year, Hermione's favorite days of the week were Wednesdays, when the only classes she had to take were Herbology (with the Ravenclaws) and Care of Magical Creatures (with the Hufflepuffs). The fact that Professor Hagrid, a good friend of both the Trio and Harry's parents, was the Care of Magical Creatures teacher also helped her choice.

Hermione _didn't_ know, of course, that just because a day happens to be your favorite, it doesn't mean that bad things cannot happen while the day continues to run its course. Nor did she suspect that, simply because one likes a particular teacher, you aren't guaranteed that you won't have any bad experiences while taking that very teacher's class. Those two things are very important things to learn, and since one cannot learn everything from books and lessons, Life sometimes decides to step in, and give out some lessons too. Which is why during Hermione's first Wednesday of her seventh and last year at Hogwarts, while attending to professor Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures lesson, something bad happened that would not only worry Hermione to death during the entire day, but make Hermione's life a living Hell for the rest of the week as well.

Hermione Granger would later attribute the accident to the possibility of Wednesday being Neville's least favorite day. But that doesn't change the fact that, during Hermione's favorite day, in a class taught by one of her favorite people at Hogwarts, her Defense Against the Dark Arts partner, Neville Longbottom, was attacked by a young—yet angry—dragon.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had offered to take him to the hospital wing as soon as Hagrid could manage to stop the dragon from clawing at poor Neville's arms and trying to burn him to death. Hagrid had, of course, blamed the incident on the fact that the dragon had been upset because he had been forced to spend the last few days inside a cage. Yet afterwards it had been discovered that it was not only that which upset the dragon, for it had actually been in the process of getting ill with dragon pox as well.

While Madam Pomfrey could cure anything from bloody wounds to loss of bones in mere hours, she could not rid someone so quickly of magical diseases. So the trio of friends had been informed that Neville would have to stay in the hospital wing on quarantine for an undetermined amount of time. Hermione had only been worried about Neville's health at the time, so of course she wouldn't remember that Neville had still not managed to put a curse on their hat for Defense. She would only remember that the next morning, when she found herself seated alone, a hat in her hands, and with no one to put a curse on it.

At first, Hermione had foolishly wondered where Neville was. It took her less than a minute to remember, with a pang of pity, that he was in the Hospital Wing. Then her real worrying began: what was she supposed to do with her project? That Snape would let her finish it on her own or wait for Neville to get out of the infirmary was unlikely. Her Potions professor would either fail her on the spot or have her work with someone else—that someone probably not being Ron or Harry, but any Slytherin who could ruin her grade.

She stole a quick glance to her neighboring desk. Riddle sat on it, idly reading a book about advanced charms. This should mean he had finished _her_ library book already. Good. She would pick it up as soon as she had her first break.

What was _not_ good was the possibility that Riddle's idleness could be read by Professor Snape as a good enough motive to have him work with her. Hermione would much rather have the professor curse her object _himself_ rather than having it allowed to fall into Tom Riddle's evil, yet admittedly talented hands. It would be cause enough for Riddle to have a _party_, with her object as the center piece of decoration, and he would have songs sung about how, come Friday, Hermione Granger would fail her very first assignment _ever_ in her seventeen years of life.

No one could blame Hermione for not wanting _that_ to happen.

Yet as much as Hermione would much rather be forced to work with Crabbe or Goyle—heck, have herself work _for_Crabbe or Goyle—it appeared that Tom Riddle had no objections to working with her. Hermione was just getting ready to raise her hand—uttering a prayer first to whatever god was out there to please, _please_ make it so that Professor Snape wouldn't have _Riddle_ cursing her object—when Tom Riddle suddenly dropped his book and raised _his_ hand.

_Oh God_, Hermione thought, as Professor Snape looked up and asked Tom Riddle what was wrong.

_Oh God,_ she thought again, as she saw Tom make a move towards her, his lips moving—yet she could not possibly bring herself to hear the words.

_Oh _, was the last thing she remembered thinking, when her ears suddenly decided to disobey her orders and work again, and then Hermione heard Snape saying: "I see you are right. Miss Granger, you can work with Mr. Riddle this once." And then, back to Tom: "Your grade will not be affected because of your help, so don't worry if she cannot… _finish_ it on time."

And then Professor Snape went back to grading other student's papers as the rest of the class worked quietly. And then Tom Riddle looked at her with an evil smirk, extended his arm, and silently asked her to—no—_commanded_ her to give him her hat. And then the gates of Hell opened, the demons sang—her grade was _doomed_…

He took her hat, a vicious smile on his lips. Hermione Granger got up.

"What are you doing?" Tom Riddle asked her. "Sit back down."

"I thought we weren't allowed to know what our partners were doing," Hermione spat, resentment in her voice. True, he hadn't begun a verbal quarrel with her _yet_, but his intent when getting the hat was obvious. He intended to destroy her hat; make it impossible for her to fix it. This might be the battle that decided the war.

Hermione knew he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she failed Snape's assignment.

"But I am not your partner, am I, Miss Granger?" he said, not even bothering to look at her, but at the hat, as he played with it with idle fingers. "It would get awfully _boring_ to simply sit here and do petty schoolwork while I could be doing something else entirely. I'd rather have someone to be as bored as I am about to get, since I'm forced to do this anyway."

"You don't _have_ to do it," Hermione reminded him, and she was right. Had he refused, Professor Snape would have been very likely to assign the job to someone else, or merely fail Hermione to save himself the trouble. "And besides, it's not like you finished the job awfully late the _last_ time." She secretly wished the last sentence hadn't sounded so much as a compliment as it did in her ears.

Riddle smiled his evil smile. "Oh, but the _last_ time I had been forced to rule out any complicated curses from the list of which I could have chosen. And _now_ I don't have those restrictions, since it appears that my grade will not be affected if you were to fail in your efforts. It wasn't something I could fail to consider with Blaise. It leaves such a lovely long list of possibilities; I don't even know where to _begin_to consider…"

Hermione glared at him. Knowing _him_ he was very likely to leave the cursing until the very last minute, only to leave her with less time to figure out how to _lift_ the curse. "How about you just do the first curse that comes to your mind and get it over with?" she suggested, sarcasm clear in her voice. "I'm in a bit of a hurry." And she _was_. It was not just Riddle and Malfoy who had done their curses now. Other groups had finished their cursing stage as well.

"Ah… Where to begin…" Tom said to himself, completely ignoring her words. Hermione could see he was rather enjoying himself, the sadistic devil.

"I took Care of Magical Creatures after this class the other day," said Tom in a rather casual tone, leaving Hermione to stare at him in disbelief. Where had _this_ conversation come from? "The dragon," he continued, "didn't look so dangerous to me. What did _Longbottom_ do to it? All it did during _our_ class was _sleep._"

"The dragon was upset because he had just begun experiencing the symptoms of dragon pox," Hermione explained, always one with answers. "Now please get to work."

"I see," Tom said, absentmindedly thinking it over. "So _that_ was why it was sleeping so much. Personally, I thought perhaps it was dying… But it must have been the disease."

"Perhaps," she agreed quickly, now impatient. "But we're not in Care of Magical Creatures, are we? We're in Defense, so would you _please_ get to work."

"I like 'please'," Tom smirked, taunting her. "It rather suits you. But you see, I _am _working on it—I was blessed with the ability to be able to think of more than one thing at a time, you know."

"Congratulations," Hermione spat. Their dispute had officially begun. "So can anyone else. Rather marvelous, the human being, isn't it?"

"Not everyone can do it," Riddle disagreed. "Just because you and I can, it doesn't mean everyone is as… fortunate. But I must admit it's a rather common gift. People of average intelligence can do it. I will give you that."

"Well, when you're done randomly expressing your misanthropic musings—"

"—and actually get to work… yes, yes. You are getting rather predictable," he interrupted, sounding annoyed. "It's a pity. Don't you ever think of anything other than school assignments? I thought you would be more interesting than that. Maybe I'll just let you go."

"_Excuse_ me?" Hermione exclaimed. "You'll _let_ me—I can leave whenever the heck I want!"

"But of course," Tom said, his voice plastered with fake agreement.

"You don't rule the world, Riddle!" Hermione argued angrily.

"No," he agreed, still looking at the hat,still playing with it. "But it's more of a 'not _yet_'. The world, of course, is mine for the taking—I'm simply taking my time. I would like to know more of it before I rule it. I like to learn as much as you do. And it might help me figure out which changes I should make first."

He was looking at her then; his eyes darker; a small smile playing on his lips. Half of him wanted her to agree with him. The other half dared her to contradict him. But she simply looked back at him, confused; she was not sure he was saying it in jest, but he _must_ have…

Tom sighed, looking back at his hat, and Hermione was surprised to find in him disappointment. "You really _aren't_"—every word sounded heavy for some reason—"more interesting. Guess I might have just gone help Goyle with his cursing. At least _he's_ stupid enough to make it _fun_."

"Hey!" Hermione said, quickly picking up what he was implying. "I am _not_ unintelligent!"

"Of course you aren't," Riddle agree, and his voice reeked of indifference; it was obvious he was just saying that mechanically—that he did not care for her arguing at _all_—just wanted to get rid of her. "I've decided a curse now."

"No, you have _not_," Hermione accused, angry, yet desperate for the first time because it seemed that he wouldn't _accept_ her. Wasn't she as smart as him? Wasn't she smart enough_ for_ him? "You're going to give me a simple curse!"

He looked at her, mildly amused again. "I thought a simple curse was what you wished for?"

"_Not_ when it's done for pity!" she snapped at him. "I want a difficult curse. _I'm _not stupid."

There was something in the way she said it. Something in her emphasis for the "I'm," the way it almost sounded as though she was stating she was different—the way it _sounded_ like she had just admitted that intelligence was not exactly a common factor in humanity—that she was indeed a rare exception—that made him smirk. "How would you accept an easy curse to break, then?"

"Out of consideration for my grade," Hermione answered truthfully. "But I don't want it. I want a difficult curse. I don't care if I fail it—I'll _show_ you I won't!"

His smirk widened into something resembling a smile. "I know curses that are difficult enough not to be broken by Aurors, girl." Then he tapped on the hat with his wand, wordlessly placing a curse on the object before handing it back to her. "Consider this an early birthday present."

Hermione was just about to open her mouth to question him when the door opened. From it came a tired Colin Creevey, who appeared as if he had just come running the whole way to the dungeons from the Astronomy Tower. Hermione gave a quick look around. Every student in the classroom was looking at Colin, either confused or, in some of the Slytherins' case, amused—and Tom was no exception.

The short sixth year quickly approached Professor Snape, a few nervous glances to the other students escaping him. It was obvious he didn't wish to have any more contact with Snape than strictly necessary, but then Hermione noticed he had a small piece of parchment in his hand—possibly a letter. He gave the letter to Snape, who quickly opened it; no emotion betrayed the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's face.

"Very well," Snape said when he finished reading, sending the letter aflame with his wand. "If he wishes to see me, so be it." Then, to the rest of the classroom: "Class dismissed for the day! Have those curses off by tomorrow!" And he went through the door, leaving his students free to go.

As soon as Snape left, it was as though a Silencing charm had been cast off of the classroom. Loud noises invaded the place as the students talked, some getting up from their seats noisily, some stretching and yawning happily. Hermione waved back at Colin as he, too, disappeared through the door; the shrugging of his shoulders informing her that he had no idea what was going on either. Her Defense project momentarily forgotten, Hermione wanted no more than to figure out exactly what had happened. She was the Head Girl, after all—if there had gone something wrong in the school _she_ should know so that she would be able to help.

"What do you think just happened?" Hermione asked out loud, temporarily forgetting just who it was that still sat calmly next to her. She felt her heart both jump and drop in alarm when she realized she had just spoken to Tom Riddle about something she would talk about with her friends.

"I have no idea," Tom whispered, clearly trying to figure it out, just as Hermione was. "But we should be told soon." Of course he would answer that. Tom was Head Boy.

Hermione didn't answer him, but started gathering her things and looked back to see what was taking Harry and Ron so long. It turned out her redheaded friend was arguing with Malfoy. Hermione sighed, and it appeared that Tom heard her. "You must get awfully tired of babysitting," he told her, and it was obvious he had noticed Ron too. Harry was trying to hold him back by now, but it appeared that, if Hermione didn't get there soon, there might be trouble.

Hermione ignored Riddle as she got up from her desk and went to Draco Malfoy's. She noticed that Lavender had already gotten up and left, and wondered what exactly had been the problem.

"You leave her alone—" Hermione heard Ron hiss when she was within hearing range. A circle was beginning to form around them, Hermione noticed, as the remaining students became aware that there might be a fight.

_Ah, of course_, Hermione thought. They must be fighting over Lavender.

Whether or not the fight was merely a Gryffindor protecting another student of his House from a Slytherin, Hermione didn't know. Ron had, after all, displayed signs of fancying Lavender back in their early sixth year. Those signs had disappeared after a short while, but Hermione couldn't help but wonder if he was still subconsciously holding feelings for Lavender, if he was fighting Malfoy. She felt a pang of what might have been jealousy at the thought, but ignored it.

"What if she doesn't _want_ me to leave her alone?" Malfoy said. "What if she wants me to stay, Weasel?"

"You two shut up," Hermione snapped once she'd gotten close enough. She felt Tom's eyes staring at her back, but dismissed it as a nervous reaction. "We're already in our seventh year. Don't you think it's time to grow up!?"

"She's right, you know, Ron," Harry agreed.

"But _Hermione_—"

"No buts, Ron," Hermione threatened before turning her attention at Malfoy. "And _you_. Whatever it is that happened, I'm sure you started it." She ignored Malfoy's feigned look of innocent surprise. "If I catch you two about to get into a fight again, I'll make sure you get detention. The both of you." Ron's pleased grin melted into another whine at the last addition.

"I've got no time for this," Malfoy informed the classroom. "_Lavender's_ waiting for me."

Harry had to hold Ron so that he wouldn't go after him.

**(TRHG)**

They were at the library: Harry, Ron and Hermione. Ron would still not forgive Hermione for taking five points from Gryffindor.

"We were just _five_ points ahead from Slytherin before you ruined it!" he had argued. "Now we're back to a tie!"

Hermione had rolled her eyes at this—they had just started the new school year. But Ron had a point: defeating Slytherin was not an easy job with Tom around to win House points. They had only defeated them twice in their six years at the school.

Yet that didn't mean that Hermione couldn't be _fair_.

"Oh, let go of it, Ron," Hermione snapped once she caught him glaring at her sulkily from across the table. He merely mumbled "traitor" and went back to writing his essay for Transfiguration. Hermione, of course, had finished it already.

Harry looked up at her after her third curse word. "Um, Hermione… _Why_ haven't you let go of Divination? We all know you hate it."

"Riddle is taking all the classes, save Muggle Studies; we all know that too," Hermione answered, as if that was reason enough.

"But that doesn't mean you _have_ to take every single class…"

Hermione let go of her quill abruptly. "Look, Harry," she said in all seriousness. "Riddle already beat me at the OWLs. I'm studying really hard for these NEWTs, and Divination is something that we both struggle at. If I can get an Outstanding on this, just like I'm sure I'll get an Outstanding on Muggle Studies, I will graduate as the best student of the school. I simply can't ruin this."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know how you can do it, Hermione."

"It's simply a matter of determination."

"It's simply a matter of stubbornness," Harry muttered.

"No, it's simply a matter of stupidity," a voice said, and Hermione just about jumped with surprise.

Riddle was standing close to their table; his eyebrows were raised inquisitively, and his eyes stared directly at Hermione's. "The Headmaster has called for us," he informed her, thoroughly ignoring both Ron and Harry. "I was told to look for you, so I headed straight to here."

"R-right," Hermione said, feeling her cheeks flush. She cursed those betraying cheeks. "I'll see you later, Harry… Ron…"

Ron had been so startled by Riddles sudden reappearance that he forgot about his anger towards her, and said his goodbye. "See ya." The reply was dumb, but Hermione was happy enough with it.

When they left the library, Hermione tried to get a hold of her nervousness and asked Riddle what was going on. "Does it have to do with Professor Snape's letter?" Hermione asked him quickly. "Did something happen? What do we have to do? Is Professor Snape—"

"Hush," Riddle said quietly, but she shut up in an instant. Tom was walking right next to her—not in front of her, like he usually did to unnerve her—but he hadn't looked at her so much as once since they came out of the library. "You always talk too much when you're nervous. It gets annoying, though I must admit it had its charm."

Hermione's blush deepened with a mix of emotions; the most recognizable of them, anger. "I will speak as much as I want!" She muttered, though this time she slowed down the speed with which she said the words. "You haven't even told me a thing."

"I've told you we're needed. That's all you need to know for now."

She looked at him suspiciously. "Do _you_ know what's going on?"

"Of course not," he told her coolly. "All _they've_ told me is that I look for _you_ and then report back."

Hermione paused in her tracks for a brief second. Tom continued, and she had to nearly run to catch up to him. "What do you think it is?"

"Nothing so difficult that I can't do on my own," he snapped at her.

She paused again. This time, she did not move. Riddle kept going a few feet, then paused as well, and looked back.

"_What_?" he hissed.

Hermione shivered nervously, but otherwise ignored his tone. "This isn't normal. Something's wrong."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "How would _you_ know? They've called us to the Headmaster's office before."

"Not like this. Not so shortly after Professor Snape was forced to stop giving a class. And you know he _never _does that."

"I'm intrigued too," Tom admitted. His voice was barely above a whisper, and Hermione had to walk closer to him in order to hear him. "But we won't know until they tell us, so hurry up."

Hermione nodded, and they both hurried their pace. They reached the gargoyle to the Headmaster's office before three minutes.

"Candy bar." Tom spat the password before Hermione could utter a word, rolling his eyes with annoyance as he did so. He never was one to like Dumbledore's passwords. The gargoyle moved, allowing them to pass. Hermione had just started to go up the stairs when Tom held her wrist.

"I don't care how anxious you are to know what's happened," he began, and Hermione was shocked to see that his eyes had a hint of red to them. He looked menacing. "You won't talk unless you _have_ to. And _I'll_ ask the questions."

Hermione bit her lip. The urge to ask him _why_ was almost unbearable. So was the urge to yell at him, but something told her that now was not the time.

Tom Riddle went up the stairs and Hermione followed him hesitantly, the red she had seen still in her mind. Tom knew something, or at least suspected it. There was no other reason why he was so determined to have her quiet. But what exactly was going on? With a little bit of luck, Dumbledore would tell her.

* * *

A/N Version 2.0: I'm sorry this chapter took me so long. I was sort of… stuck. And starting university was no help. Here's a tip: if you value your free time, don't study architecture. I've got good news for you, though: I have loads of free time now because I just couldn't _not_ write and _did_ something about it. Erm… Enough about my life. No use of turning you all into stalkers. O.o 

Oh! And as always, read and review, please!


	3. Chapter 3

myTitle: Foreign Worlds

SPOILER WARNING: Um… Yeah. If you haven't read all seven books yet… Tsk, tsk, tsk. Shame on you.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns everything, except for this here magic lamp. Mmmm… It be a CHOCOLATE magic lamp, and it's all miiiine…

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, and sorry for taking so long with the third chapter. Alas, I'm writing (le gasp!) original fiction. _Why_ must it happen to me:P

From the last chapter (in case you forgot):

_Tom Riddle went up the stairs and Hermione followed him hesitantly, the red she had seen still in her mind. Tom knew something, or at least suspected it. There was no other reason why he was so determined to have her quiet. But what exactly was going on? With a little bit of luck, Dumbledore would tell her._

* * *

Hermione's favorite place at Hogwarts was not Dumbledore's office, but it might be a close third, after the library and the Gryffindor common room. The place was simply too interesting _not_ to like it, full of odd contraptions and old headmaster portraits. But what was perhaps the most interesting thing of all was the headmaster himself. 

Albus Dumbledore was an odd headmaster. He was old, yet full of life, and even Hermione would sometimes suspect he was loopy. Yet he was a great man, a powerful wizard, and the best headmaster that Hogwarts had ever seen. (And she knew this by fact—she had checked with _Hogwarts, __A__ History_).

Yet today, Dumbledore was not himself. Or at least, he didn't _seem_ like it. Hermione noticed that he looked troubled, and it worried her to no end. What could happen in Hogwarts that made its headmaster appear so anxious?

"Miss Granger, Mister Riddle. So nice of you to come," Headmaster Dumbledore greeted them as he motioned for them to sit down on the chairs before his desk. Both Hermione and Tom did so.

"Why have you called us, Headmaster?" Riddle asked coolly. Hermione looked at him, but he was betraying no emotion. It annoyed her to be the only one who didn't have a _clue_ of what was going on.

Dumbledore sighed. He had only opened his mouth when Professor Snape entered the room.

"I've got the ring, Headmaster," Severus Snape informed him. Hermione was puzzled. What did a ring had to do with anything? She looked over at Tom, but he didn't look like he either recognized or didn't know about any ring.

"Of course, Severus. Thank you." Professor Snape walked up to Dumbledore's desk, giving Tom Riddle a calculating glance once he had gotten close enough. Hermione looked at Dumbledore just in time to see that he had done the same.

Snape left the ring on Dumbledore's desk, then left. To Hermione's intrigue, Dumbledore did not so much as touch the ring. It looked old, and dirty, but there was a clear "P" visible. Hermione doubted that the "P" stood for Percival.

"There is so much I have to tell you," Dumbledore said. He looked defeated and older than ever. "Yet there is so much I do not want you to know. So I will attempt to do a compromise. I will tell you just what is needed to convince you that you should go to where you two must go, and then I promise you that I will tell you the rest once you get there."

Hermione was puzzled, and opened her mouth to tell Dumbledore so, when Riddle interrupted her.

"I don't think you are speaking very clearly, Headmaster," he told him.

"I guess I'm not," Dumbledore agreed. "Allow me to explain…"

Dumbledore slowly stood up, and motioned to Hermione to get the ring, which she did. She twirled it in her fingers, and the gem that was incrusted in it gleamed.

"For twenty years, I have been keeping contact with a person who has asked me for my help. I do not yet fully understand how it is possible, but that person somehow knew about you, Tom." He nodded at his direction. Riddle didn't so much as move, but continued to stare at the wall behind Dumbledore's desk. "But it gets even stranger. You see, Mr. Riddle, Miss Granger—that person was _me_."

"What?" Hermione gasped, incredulous. "But how can that _be_, Headm—"

"Hush! Let him continue," Riddle silenced her, leaning his head a little closer to Hermione's, and without even noticing it, he moved his hand to her thigh as if to placate her. Hermione immediately moved herself away from him and sent him a glare. She saw Riddle's eyes darken significantly then.

"I understand your doubts, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with an eyebrow raised at the both of them. Their little fight hadn't gone unnoticed by him. "I did not believe it true myself, at first. Thought it had been all a strange dream. But it appears like those Chocolate Frog Cards have more magic than any of us imagined."

"You said you saw this in a Chocolate Frog Card," Hermione repeated, Riddle's previous instructions forgotten. Her tone questioned the Headmaster's sanity.

"I saw this in a Chocolate Frog Card, yes," Dumbledore said. "But that is not my point. My point is, there is another world in danger besides our own, and only you, Tom, can save it."

Tom Riddle did not look convinced. He merely raised an eyebrow at the Headmaster skeptically and asked, "Why was it necessary to drag Miss Granger into this, then, Headmaster?" The words carried more acid than Hermione thought he would dare use for a Headmaster.

"That, I cannot fully answer," Dumbledore admitted, though he looked like he knew more than he let on. "I could have chosen anyone else, but I must admit, I am more comfortable with Miss Granger accompanying you in your task to make sure that you do not—ah—stray…"

"Stray?" Riddle repeated. He did not look very happy.

"You must help my other self defeat a certain Dark Lord in his world, Tom," Dumbledore said. To Hermione, it all seemed gibberish. Perhaps the Headmaster was crazier than she had originally thought. "Only you can do it, and I think you know why."

"I don't," Riddle said simply. Challenging.

Headmaster Dumbledore sighed. "Very well," he said. He took his time fixing one of the headmasters' portraits before sitting back down. "Miss Granger, your task is to help Mr. Riddle as best as you can in figuring out how to defeat the Dark Wizard of my other self's time. You will be left in charge of the ring, which will transport you. Do _not_ let Tom get a hold of it.

"As for you, Tom, you must remember that there are lives at stake besides your own." Dumbledore's bright blue eyes twinkled then, as though he was trying to communicate something to him that he could not say with words. "Act according to that responsibility."

"I don't get it, Headmaster," Hermione said. She ignored Tom Riddle's glare and went on. "Do you _honestly_ believe what you have just said. It seems like nonsense, don't you think? I seriously doubt—"

"Yes, Miss Granger, it _does_ seem like nonsense," Dumbledore agreed. "But think. Before you were eleven years old, did magic seem like nonsense to you?"

Hermione couldn't answer that truthfully without losing her argument.

"You must hold the ring and turn it three times," Dumbledore told her. "Meanwhile, think of a place where Lord Voldemort has just come back to the wizarding world after thirteen years of being thought dead."

"Must we go now?" Riddle asked. Hermione though he didn't look like he even wanted to go anywhere at all.

"I am afraid you must, there isn't much time left," Dumbledore said.

Both Hermione Granger and Tom Riddle got up. Hermione was still not believing any of it, but perhaps if she did what she was told, her headmaster would stop acting insane. She mentally cursed her lack of being able to bring Dumbledore to reason and held the ring on her right hand. Tom took her left one.

"I don't suppose you want to go alone, do you?" He asked her. There was a faint trace of a smirk in his lips that didn't quite reach the rest of his face.

Hermione merely rolled her eyes at him, but then turned the ring while holding Riddle's hand nonetheless.

For what appeared to be only a slight second, Hermione felt nauseous. Yet it had to have been only her mind playing tricks on her, she told herself as she looked around the room. Dumbledore's office looked exactly the same.

"Nothing happened," Hermione said, letting go of Riddle's hand. Of _course_ nothing had happened—Dumbledore had been speaking nonsense all along, and she knew it.

"Are you sure?" Riddle asked her. He sounded even bored. "The headmaster is gone."

There had been indeed something very odd about Dumbledore's office after the nausea. Hermione's instincts had instantly perceived it, though her mind had persisted on insisting that everything remained the same. Tom Riddle had obviously not been so close-minded.

"Where has he gone to?" she asked him, and there was a hint of irritation in her voice. Perhaps she expected Dumbledore had hidden behind a curtain or under his desk. It certainly made more sense to her than to believe they had traveled, not to a different time, but an entirely different and parallel universe. No understanding person could ever blame her for it.

Tom Riddle did get annoyed, though. "He's hidden behind a portrait," he said sarcastically. "Where do you _think_ he is? We're not in the Headmaster's office anymore, Miss Granger."

Hermione stared at him. She clearly thought him mad. "Does this not look like the Headmaster's office to you?"

"Of course it does," Tom conceded. "But it isn't _our_ Headmaster's office anymore. Or did you think that Headmaster Dumbledore was lying?"

"O-of course not," Hermione said, though she hesitated. She then proceeded in a whisper. "But he has obviously gone mad, hasn't he? To believe that a simple ring could take us to another place—"

"Ah. Miss Granger! I see that it has worked."

Professor Dumbledore interrupted them by entering his office, and Hermione flushed a deep red. She hadn't expected him to show up so suddenly. And how had he been able to exit the room when she had not so much as seen him go near the door? No one could apparate in Hogwarts.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster," Riddle said politely.

"Tom," Dumbledore said, nodding his head towards the younger man in recognition.

Hermione was confused.

"I trust that you already know where you are."

"We do," Tom Riddle said. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but quickly shut it when Riddle grabbed her hand and squeezed it—a sign that she shouldn't talk at all.

"Good," Dumbledore said. "How much more do you know?"

"We are here to help you defeat a dark wizard. That is about all you told us."

"A—and I'm supposed to help Riddle," Hermione added. She had never felt so stupid, and mentally kicked herself when she realized that she was feeling—and probably acting—like this in front of Tom.

Tom Riddle glared at her then, but he said nothing.

"Excellent, excellent," Dumbledore said, nodding his head. "I think that should be sufficient for now. Now, you are welcome to stay here until we finish gathering the information we need, but there are certain rules you must follow: you mustn't allow anyone but yourselves to see you—anyone at all—you must not speak to anyone, and you must not leave your chambers.

"You will each have your own room, of course, next to each other. A house elf will lead you to them… And don't worry, the rooms are connected, so you will still be able to speak with each other. I have borrowed a cloak for you to be able to pass—but I am afraid that you must return it with the house elf, for it is not mine."

"But… Headmaster… Why can't we allow people to see us? I left Harry and Ron waiting and—"

"Do you not get it, Miss Granger?" Tom Riddle interrupted. He was doing his best to hide his impatience. "We are in a different world now. A different dimension."

Hermione stared at Riddle as though _he_ had gone crazy, too. Albus Dumbledore let out a small chuckle.

"I was afraid that it would take you a while to believe me, Miss Granger. I am sorry, but I must ask you to simply trust me. For now. Tandy!"

A small house elf appeared out of nowhere and Hermione resisted the urge to give her Headmaster a look of disapproval. She had never liked the way the wizarding world treated the house elves.

"Lead Tom and Hermione to their chambers, please," Dumbledore said.

"Yes, Master! Right this way, please!"

"Don't forget the cloak," Dumbledore reminded them, as he handed Tom Riddle an odd cape. As they went to the door, Hermione looked back. Dumbledore's eyes weren't twinkling as they usually did when he waved them goodbye.

They were out of the office when Tom Riddle smirked and put on the cloak. Hermione didn't like the way it seemed almost obvious that she would have to get near to him to be able to hide under that cloak, too. Before she had made the decision to simply face that fact, however, an invisible hand had pulled her towards the place where Tom Riddle had once been and said wizard pulled the cloak up to allow her to enter. She squealed.

"Watch it, Riddle!" she spat at him, but he didn't seem to mind it.

They proceeded to follow Tandy through different corridors. Hermione spent most of the time they walked trying to focus on something that was _not_ Tom Riddle. She had never been so close to him—she had never noticed he sort of smelled nice… Like cologne and… was that sugar!? No, that couldn't be sugar… Did _she_ smell like sugar?

They passed a few students along the way. Tom had to hold Hermione back when Ginny Weasley passed them by, to stop her from trying to say "hi" to her. She had less trouble not paying any attention to him after that.

"We're here, Master and Missus!" Tandy said happily. They had reached a place Hermione had never seen before. The corridor was narrow, and there were only three doors there. In front of two of them, there were two keys.

Hermione looked at Tom and he looked back at her: a silent question of who should pick their room first. Tom Riddle raised an eyebrow and motioned for her to go ahead. Hermione almost told him how oddly gentlemanly that was of him.

She looked around them to make sure that there was no one nearby, and then got out from under the cloak and picked the door that was nearest to her. She took the key and opened the door, then got inside her room, though she didn't close the door.

As Hermione explored her new room—painted white, with a hint of grey and blue in the borders and decor—, Tom Riddle took his keys and opened his door, then gave the cloak to Tandy, who bowed and then disappeared. When Tom disappeared in his own room, Hermione closed her door and locked it, then she jumped to the full-sized bed—and nearly screamed when a door she hadn't noticed suddenly opened up, revealing Riddle on the other side.

"Can't you knock!?" Hermione snapped at him after he had made her gasp. Riddle didn't laugh, but he sure looked close to doing it.

"Of course I can. But why would I want to?"

Hermione glared at him.

If Tom Riddle didn't talk, Hermione Granger would certainly not start a conversation with him. She didn't even know what he was doing there, lying against the entrance that connected his room to hers. All he was doing was looking at her and It unnerved her.

"Your room is almost identical to mine," Riddle pointed out, as Hermione did her best to ignore him as she looked around the bedroom.

"I kind of suspected that. I think we're in some of the teacher's dormitories."

"I am guessing life as a Hogwarts professor isn't as interesting as it looks, then?" Riddle joked.

Hermione fought back a smile and turned her attention back to him. "I didn't know you joked."

"Nonsense. I joke all the time. You simply don't appreciate my sense of humor."

"You mean the sarcastic, cynical kind? I must admit I don't. I usually try to be nicer."

"Cynical or not, I think we should call a truce, Miss Granger," Tom suggested. Hermione didn't feel so comfortable when he took a couple of steps forward and into her room.

"A truce?" she asked him, taking a few steps towards the wall behind her. "Why should we call a truce?"

He stared at her. She didn't like those stares—it made her feel like there was something wrong with her. "We are going to be working together for what looks like quite a while. Is that not reason enough?"

"What would you gain with that?"

"I would get far less glares, for beginners."

Hermione bit back her reply for that.

Tom moved forward again, and she took even more steps back until she hit the wall. Riddle smirked, and moved towards her.

There was only about one foot between them now.

"I don't want a truce with you, Riddle."

He rolled his eyes. "For someone that is too rational to even fully believe the powers of magic, you can be quite stubborn sometimes, Miss Granger."

"I don't care," Hermione defended herself angrily, though she was blushing. "Sometimes it's just better to trust your gut."

"Oh, really?" Riddle spat. Hermione could have sworn she saw a hint of that red again. "And what does your _gut_ say about _me_?"

She was startled. She hadn't expected him to act that question.

"That—that you're—"

What was it? There was something about Tom Riddle that bothered Hermione more than she was bothered by Malfoy, by Snape, or by any other Slytherin prat. And it wasn't _just_ that he was smart—perhaps even smarter than _her_—or that he was often considered a better student… though that helped. It wasn't the teasing, though she hated it, nor the fact that merely being near him made her feel strangely sick. It was something more, though she couldn't quite put a finger on it…

Their eyes locked, and for some strange reason, Riddle seemed to understand even better than _she_ did.

"You think I'm evil," he stated simply. He looked calm enough, though he really wasn't. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see the lamp next to her bed shaking.

What was _wrong_ with this guy?

"E-excuse me?" she asked in disbelief.

"Evil," repeated Riddle, and there was something in the coolness of his voice that made her have chills running down her spine. "All of you seem to think it. To be honest, I had not really thought of you as capable of believing such _crap_."

She stared at him then and stood still, though her heart was racing. "Is this a _joke_?"

Riddle raised an eyebrow. He was giving her a look that looked full of loathing. "Yes, it must be. _Stupid_ Hermione Granger."

He was smarter than to give his back to her, though it was clear the conversation was over. Or at least, he had _intended_ it to be over—but Hermione would have none of that.

She slapped him in the face.

"Be careful who you call stupid, you moron, you jerk, you—self-obsessed prat!" She screamed at him. A part of her was surprised that the lamp hadn't exploded then. Tom really just looked startled. "Just because I follow the rules of _logic_ doesn't mean I'm mentally impaired! Or do you think that magic has no laws simply because it's magic? Am I _stupid_ because I follow the rules, or because I make _sense_? How on _Earth_ did you managed to be the top of your class with your twisted regard to _logic_!? Don't you _dare_ call me stupid again, or I will hex you!"

Riddle opened his mouth, then closed it—and instantly hated himself for showing hesitation. It took him less than a second to compose himself, however, and answer her. "You will hex me?" he asked calmly, as though Hermione was far less angry and they were simply talking about the weather. "With what wand?"

Hermione's eyes instantaneously fell on the wand she had foolishly left on the bedroom—an unconscious act. She certainly didn't remember making the decision to leave it there, but it had become a habit back in her dorms that proved to be simply too hard to break.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione Granger," Riddle said, and with a wave of his hand, he left. Surprisingly enough, all signs of his being mad at her were gone. Maybe he really _was_ insane, Hermione realized. He certainly had the mood swings for it.

"See you tomorrow, crazy Riddle," was something Hermione would have liked to answer back, but she certainly didn't allow herself to form those words. She decided to simply say nothing at all instead.

When the door was closed, Hermione moved straight to the bed and picked up her wand. It would be the last time she left it alone, she vowed.

Somehow, it seemed as though she had finally managed to get herself into far more trouble than she could manage alone.

* * *

A/N- This chapter may not be good, as I forced myself to write it during early hours of the morning—or better yet, late hours of the night. I don't think it could have waited anymore; I mean, it's October! But it was so hard to write… Lucky for me, I've already written part of another chapter, and that wasn't as hard. Maybe I was just suffering a bit of writer's block when it came to this chapter. 

Oh! And as always, don't forget to read and review! Reviews equal love, and they tend to force me to write chapters faster. :P I hope you're all liking the story so far.

(I've gotten a few reviews asking me to make Tom fall in love with Hermione, by the way. I'll just answer those by saying that this _is_ a Tom/Hermione fic… ;D).


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: "Yes, it took me a while." … "No, I haven't updated since last year." … "Yes, I'm terribly sorry for it, as well as ashamed." … "No, I don't plan to give this story up." … "Yes, I really mean it." … "No, I have no idea where the story is taking me, but it sure is getting 'angst-ier' by the second."

SPOILER WARNING: I've read all seven books. Some of the plot might make it to this Alternate Universe!story.

Disclaimer: JKR is rich; I am not. JKR owns Harry Potter; I do not. JKR is happy to own Harry; I cry myself to sleep at night for not owning it. :P

From the last chapter (in case you forgot):

_"I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione Granger," Riddle said, and with a wave of his hand, he left. Surprisingly enough, all signs of his being mad at her were gone. Maybe he really __was__ insane, Hermione realized. He certainly had the mood swings for it._

_"See you tomorrow, crazy Riddle," was something Hermione would have liked to answer back, but she certainly didn't allow herself to form those words. She decided to simply say nothing at all instead._

_When the door was closed, Hermione moved straight to the bed and picked up her wand. It would be the last time she left it alone, she vowed._

_Somehow, it seemed as though she had finally managed to get herself into far more trouble than she could manage alone._

* * *

It felt awkward to Hermione to have her breakfast delivered to her room by a House Elf, but it was even more awkward to eat breakfast with Riddle.

Hermione Granger hadn't really called him—not at all. She had kindly opened the door when Tandy knocked, embarrassedly said thank you to the confused House Elf several times, and then closed the door quietly to eat. She hadn't exactly screamed that she was eating breakfast, but somehow, Riddle had known she was awake.

As soon as the door between her room and his was opened and revealed Tom Riddle, Hermione was thankful that she was already fully dressed and had gotten a shower.

"What are you doing here?" she had hissed at him, Tom Riddle leaning on the door as he watched her. Hermione couldn't help but be a little confused: she could have sworn she had locked the door with more than a simple door lock.

"You were awake, I figured we could talk."

Hermione was not so comfortable with that. Aside from his usual insulting, she now had reasons to believe Tom was crazy. Something about the way she looked at him must have revealed that she still fully remembered last night, because Tom, contrary to all things logic, smirked at her.

"I'm not going to insult you, Miss Granger, I believe we had called a truce."

Hermione glared at him, but didn't bother to remind him that _she_ had not agreed to a truce of any kind just yet. But by not correcting him, she had sort of accepted the truce as well.

So now there they sat, in Hermione's borrowed bedroom, sitting on two seats conjured by Riddle across a table conjured by herself. It was certainly odd eating with your worst enemy—even if there _was_ a sort of truce.

"What do you think this Headmaster wishes us to do?" Riddle asked nonchalantly as he picked at a slice of apple. He didn't even bother to look at her, but she raised her eyes from her pancakes and to him anyway.

"I can honestly say I have no idea," she admitted, but went no further. It was obvious to her that Riddle had at least an idea of why they were here.

There was a pause, and then Riddle spoke again. "Where did you put the ring?" he asked casually.

Hermione hesitated. "I don't think I'm supposed to tell you."

He looked at her then, and she didn't like the feeling. It was almost like she was being interrogated. "Why do you think that is?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said defensively. Then, before she could stop herself—"Do _you_?"

Riddle raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't answer.

Hermione was more than slightly annoyed by the lack of response, when she had clearly answered all of Tom Riddle's questions, and she went back to eating her pancakes in silence, leaving the fresh apples for dessert. By the time she was done, she noticed that Riddle was no longer playing with her food, but had been staring at her instead.

She felt uncomfortable.

"I wouldn't be lying if I said that I'm not very comfortable with any of this," Riddle admitted, the sudden outburst of what seemed to be sincerity confusing Hermione to no end. "Here we are, thrown to a different world, and we don't even know what's going on."

Hermione hesitated—was _this_ why he had appeared to be so angry—and nervous?

He continued. "Sometimes, I must admit I'm not very happy with the way the Headmaster does things. Even you should have noticed that he doesn't seem to be well."

"He is the best headmaster Hogwarts has had yet," Hermione was quick to respond. She might sometimes doubt the Headmaster's sanity, but she would never doubt that he was the best and brightest wizard she had ever met.

Tom Riddle stared at her for what seemed to be hours. "I understand your loyalty," Riddle said finally, still looking into her brown eyes. For some reason, he really looked understanding. "But you must be very stupid to believe that just because a person is bright, it means he can lead. Albus Dumbledore might have been a great wizard at one time, but he is old and insane _now_. And besides, who is to say that he knows better than you or I? We certainly aren't as mentally impaired as everyone else."

Hermione felt odd. Where was all this flattery coming from, if it even _was_ flattery? What was Riddle trying to _do_?

Riddle smiled a weird smile, and then dropped his gaze to drink his tea.

Hermione knew the conversation was over before she had gotten a chance to defend Dumbledore and demand that Riddle explained himself.

**(TRHG)**

Hermione and Tom found themselves in Headmaster Dumbledore's office not long after, both dressed in the robes that Tandy had brought for them. It was a weird feeling, being in a room they had seen for years and talking to a person whose face was so familiar that it felt almost impossible that they had never talked to him before yesterday. To Hermione's mind, he was still Albus Dumbledore. Yet this Albus Dumbledore was not the same she had met in her first year.

What was different about this particular Headmaster Dumbledore besides the fact that he was a _different_ Albus Dumbledore, Hermione didn't know for certain. It was true that he must be younger, as she learned that this particular world was about two years in the past; but he seemed much older than the Dumbledore _she_ knew, even though the blue eyes were just as sparkling as ever.

Tom Riddle interrupted her musings with a cold statement. "You have still not explained to us why we must help you, Headmaster."

Hermione and Tom were sitting aside each other, facing the Headmaster, who was sitting at his desk. Tom Riddle had been on edge ever since they had been called to his office, and Hermione was no longer so sure if it was because he suspected something or because he was just as clueless as she was.

The Headmaster seemed patient to Tom Riddle's current antipathy.

"Oh, I will explain," Headmaster Dumbledore said calmly. "Believe it or not, Tom, I am perfectly aware that I owe you at least that." He shifted his attention to Hermione then, and—both to her surprise and annoyance—Riddle placed a forceful hand on her thigh for the second time that week. Hermione swatted it away and glared at him, but Albus Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow in calculating surprise.

"Does Miss Granger know why you are here, Tom?" the old man finally asked after a short, yet uncomfortable, silence.

Whether Riddle was glaring at Dumbledore or not, Hermione didn't know, for she was looking determinedly and anyone _but_ him for the time being. "No," Riddle answered. To Hermione's ears, his voice sounded stubborn. "_Neither_ of us know why we were sent here."

"Then maybe I should explain…?" Albus offered. Hermione was puzzled. Why had he said that in a questioning tone?

Was he asking for Riddle's _permission_?

Rather abruptly, Tom Riddle got up from his seat. Hermione had too little time to be able to refrain herself from her resolve and looked at him.

"_No_, Headmaster. I am afraid that anything you would say would make no sense, neither to Miss Granger or to me," Riddle all but hissed, sending Hermione into an almost catatonic state of shock. To respond to a Headmaster with such an open tone of dislike was worse than _sacrilege_.

"You are obviously not well, Headmaster," the young man proceeded after having admittedly calming down, at least visibly. Hermione noticed the eyes—oddly enough, they looked almost reddish again, but she had enough common sense left to at least blame it on the _lighting_. "Perhaps we should leave for our quarters now and come back when you feel better."

There was a small pause, and to Hermione's relief, the Headmaster didn't seem to be angry at all when he answered. "Ah—Perhaps you're right, Tom. Very well. But I would like for us to speak alone before you go."

Tom Riddle turned his head to look at Hermione for a moment, and she immediately gave a low growl of dislike and turned her attention from him. "I have no complaints if all you want to do is talk, Headmaster, but I would rather leave Miss Granger in her quarters before we do. After all, it wouldn't be very thoughtful of you to send her alone."

Hermione almost huffed with resentment. Both the wizards seemed to be obviously dismissing her, and she was not stupid enough _not_ to _notice_.

The Headmaster, though, seemed to have no objections. "But of course, how very careless of me. Off you go, then, my students of another world. Tom, I will have tea waiting for you once you come back."

Tom Riddle raised an eyebrow, then gave a slight bow—not once leaving his eyes off Dumbledore's. Then before Hermione could protest, he had grabbed her arm and forced her out with him. She, unlike him, had enough respect for the Headmaster to force herself not to struggle.

"What were you _doing_ here? Are you _mad_? _You could have gotten us into trouble_!" Hermione hissed at Riddle at the top of her voice, clearly angry. They had walked a distance long enough to be sure they were not overheard; Hermione had dislodged her hand from Riddle's as soon as they had gotten out of Dumbledore's office, and had refused to touch him since.

"The Headmaster is clearly the one who is mad, Miss Granger," Tom Riddle said with only a hint of anger in his otherwise dangerously cool voice.

"_He was _going_ to explain to us why we're _here" she shrieked at him, finally forcing one of the confused portraits to ask her to be quiet. They were, after all, under an invisibility cloak.

Riddle abruptly stopped walking, forcing Hermione to stop as well just before she ended up walking out from under the cloak.

"What are you _doing_?" she asked him angrily, though admittedly in a far quieter tone.

Tom Riddle seemed to have a hard time calming himself so he could look at her and answer. "You need to calm down, Hermione. I am beginning to suspect that it isn't very convenient for us to be here at all. We don't know Dumbledore's _real_ intentions."

"How would you know?" Hermione hissed at him. Then she remembered the Headmaster's inquiring glance at Riddle—like he had been asking permission for something…

What did Riddle _know_?

It must have been the sudden way she stopped talking, or maybe he knew Legimency, but some way or the other, Riddle knew of her suspicions.

He laughed a bitter laugh and then shoved Hermione to the wall, taking himself along with her before he drew out his wand. "You're too smart for your own good, Miss Granger. But it's time that you knew that you should leave this all to _me_."

Hermione gave him an angry, accusing glare. She was smart enough to know not to say anything, but she was not going to let Riddle treat her like _this _before he knew just what she thought of it—

"No wands," Riddle said, smirking, just as the idea of quickly grabbing her wand to defend herself came to her mind. He had his left hand on her shoulder as an extra means to keep her still, but instantly lowered it until he grabbed Hermione's right hand—the one closest to her wand pocket.

To Hermione, the irony of such an otherwise loving gesture almost made her have her own bitter laugh.

"What are you playing at?" she finally asked him. It might be foolish, but she was, after all, a Gryffindor.

"Believe it or not, Miss Granger, I am actually after the better interest for us both," Riddle said simply. The way his wand was currently poking at her neck said otherwise.

"Yeah, right," Hermione said sarcastically. The portrait just beside her head was beginning to ask who was there. "And how exactly _is_ what you are doing to our best interest, especially since I'm sure the Headmaster thinks otherwise?"

Tom Riddle's gaze, to both her relief and slight annoyance, left her eyes and instead focused on the frightened picture. He too seemed to have realized that any time now a student might come here after having finished breakfast. The strong grip he had on Hermione's hand relaxed significantly, until she almost couldn't feel it was there.

"I am not one who usually asks for trust," Tom Riddle whispered, his wand lowering slightly, even though his grip on Hermione's hand tightened a little again. "I do not need it, so I won't ask you to trust me. I have stronger weapons than trust, so I will tell you now: You can either do as I say, or you can be forced into it. All I ask that you do is not to talk to Albus Dumbledore, anyway. Now give me your wand.

He let go of her hand, and Hermione was just about to grab her wand and surprise Riddle with a quick hex before he gave a low chuckle and beat her to her wand pocket.

"I keep forgetting how clever you are," he said lightly. "Not to mention, you're a Gryffindor."

He placed Hermione's wand in his pocket, and changed his wand's position from his right hand to his left, before he took Hermione's left hand in his and with a triumphant air escorted the furious witch to her bedroom.

It would be an enlightening day for one of them. Meanwhile, the other one would have no choice but to stay locked in a bedroom. Hermione had no idea what Tom was up to, but she did know that Albus Dumbledore would stop him before he did any harm, if that was even what Riddle intended. Still, she couldn't help but be jealous of him, amidst the confusion, the anger and the fear—she truly loved a good conversation with Dumbledore. And she really hated not knowing something.

* * *

A/N version 2.0: It may be unedited, shorter than usual and, uh, unedited… But this just might be my second favorite chapter of those I've written yet! (The first one not having yet seen a chance to wriggle its way into the story—though it will). I just loved Tom Riddle in this one for some reason. Was he eviler? He _was_ eviler. XD

By the way… Sorry again for being so late with this. I should really give a good explanation, but I am afraid I don't have one. I was just… confused as to what to write. Finally, I worked up my courage and read this horribly unedited fic (I really should edit what I post in here, but it ends up making me so insecure about my work that I never go past the editing stage!). I must admit that, though I flinched at times (computer! Why can't you make me write prettier!?), I still liked the plot. So I am _so _finishing this.

As always, thanks for the support! Reviews are one of the things that keep this story (and my happiness) going, so I really appreciate it! Oooh, and this chapter goes out especially to Vera-Sabe, who has written the nicest review I have ever received! It made me feel all warm inside. Thank you! And thanks again to all who review, I love you all! And I hope you liked this chapter.


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